Standing, Staring

it's hard to pass gleaming eyes
that feast upon your swaying form
to hear the sharp intake of breath
and keep walking through the slow exhale
with a steady stride to ignore
the magnetism of pheromones
it's hard to keep your acknowledgement invisible
not to pause when they part their lips
don't even glance back
to see them standing
staring

but it's all so simple
when your motivation is entirely theoretical
and each step further just broadens the mural
grows sweeter the juices
inspires more detail within the story
to enlighten the face
stuck in your head.

Yesterday Morning

what is it about my waking mind
how does it differ with the drag of the day

I eat the silent mornings
fight rationality

how futile.

perhaps one could call this
'sentimentality'
or perhaps
'instinctual softening'

however.

to learn, and to love.
respect for both the living and the dead,
never either or.



reality hasn't felt quite real
my dreams are a more complete story
I find them more reasonable
than the world outside of my head

but is it 'healthy'
in any sense of the word
to be figuring
only
in fairytales?



sometimes I wish I could marry the books I fall in love with
but its for the best that I can't
for there would be endless infidelities.

Frivolous

The end of my days will be lived out on a beach. Laying in the surf beneath the immaculate blanket of flickering fireflies. Wrapped in the thick humidity of the immense heat that emanates from the ocean depths. The night being far from silent as life continues to hum and buzz in the jungle behind and splash in the water before. The ebb and sway of the tide not only exists to breach the land water border, but also to continuously sweep this old poet's soul out to sea. My toes are burried in the sand, but my head is skimming the water's surface like a skipping stone.

A thousand trails of footprints in the sands of my memory, mine, and his.
I'll remember the early days, how we made up our own mating ritual. We covered the whole island with erotic hieroglyphics, cavemen depictions of love upon every rock face within every cave. We ran with the freedom of nymphs, leaving minimalistic poetry and clues to our whereabouts scattered throughout the jungle, written with sticks and decorated with flower petals. Articles of clothing set the path to our cabana on the cliff, and with every step closer our hearts fed the flame in our hips...

A billion trails of footprints in the sands of my memory, mine, his, and a smaller set resembling our own.
I'll remember the first time we brought our darling here. The eyes that glittered as they took in the lush scenery of this secluded unkempt world, the squeal that was emitted as we stepped down onto the dock, and the laughter we shared while witnessing the innocent look of pure wonder on our infant's face, was worth more than the entire ocean, or even the sun itself. Endless seasons spent on the shore, serenely observing from abroad the natural cycle of the myriad species of both land and sea, as they grow and create and diminish. And then to watch our own baby's first steady steps, first bee sting, first love letters...

The ocean breeze playing ever so gently with my hair, and I remember you wished you could touch me as lightly as it does. The crash of the waves so soothing, lulling me into tranquil slumber, and I swear I can hear the echoes of children's laughter...

Then my last blissful breath will exhale my energy, I will dissipate and drift out beyond the horizon to leave my lifeless body upon the shore. My final gift given to mother nature, to let her decide with the tide whether to push my form further upon her beach or drag it down into her depths.

How silly I must seem,
dreaming of my future self dreaming about the past.

Acquiescence

whence hast gone thy nerve
to mollify that which sears within
for whom
doest thou
renounce thyself?

the answer is clear
though the language
is not.

Ink and Paper

Confidence drives me, and prevents my perfectionist mind from succumbing to despair. Yet this day is lined with enough discouragement to completely blow all four tires on my driving force. It's all I can do to take this in stride. Am I aiming too high or striving too low? Is it a case of overconfidence or underestimation? And with my steadfast belief in constructive criticism, I refuse to lay the blame anywhere but on myself. Out of sheer admiration and the utmost respect, I absolutely will not take the route of my peers and pose war on the members of faculty. Perhaps their haughty course of action is the main factor in my reluctance to bring forth my own debatable situation, but regardless, I've become incredibly disappointed with myself.

My reason tells me I should not take it so much to heart, but I truly am my own worst critic, and although I realize that all too often I take my denunciation to the extreme, I still haven't figured out how to curtail it. I am far too sensitive to the remarks of those I look up to, and even if the downgraded outcome of my effort was unjustifiable and still remains so, I continue to take it internally. My head aches of incompetence. The excitement of ten days has been suffocated by the foreboding uncertainty of my potential for the next four years. Do I continue to pursue an extensive education when I'll be running on faith alone? Perhaps it would be in my best interest to bail out completely and follow an easier path to a more unfulfilled life that I am positive I can achieve.

I should slap myself for sinking that shamefully low. My introspection can be so merciless sometimes. What I really need is to take this injury as fuel and reignite my determination. Paint over this fucking face of failure and step forward to prove I am worth so much more than what they've ascertained.

And through these words I have won. I have rehabilitated my momentarily lost ambition. Another self-reliance test passed as I brought myself back from the brink of insecurity and self-doubt. I am proud that I can confide in myself and persevere without relying on reassurance from another. This is proof I am solitarily stable.

All I need is ink and paper.

Satiety

sometimes when we're really hungry
we only feed our heads
and forget to feed our hearts

I haven't been exactly sure
what it is I'm running from
I only feel the heat of the chase

my most adored sister, Led Zeppelin, and I
we led the focus down forgotten back roads
ceaselessly conversing, grimly smiling
shedding light on the dark corners
in which we both metaphorically cower
then
arm in arm, we stepped from the shadows
out into the moonlit winter
and with soft laughter we walked
leaving the world ablaze behind us
the black ashes from our souls
smothering the glare from the past

while the path before us glitters

I am capable
I will conquer the world of knowledge
I just need to decide
which castle to take first

but as predicted inevitable
I seek only to fill my head
while my heart pounds in my chest
a raging reminder
of how hungry I really am.